A Smattering of Chekov
by Dewy eyes
Summary: A series of drabbles and such featuring everyone's favorite navigator. No slash or pairings, just lots of friendship.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Well, here goes. My very first published fanfic ever. I'll be adding on as I write more. They aren't in any particular order or timeframe. Special thanks to Nimthiriel Eruhin for lending her awesome beta skills. Please review!

Disclaimer: I don't own them; nor am I making a profit off this story.

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><p>Drabble: First Impression<p>

He's so young, all bright eyes and eager smile. I have a hard time believing that he's supposed to maneuver us through the unknown. Yet there he sits at the navigation console, his yellow uniform a little baggy on his gangly limbs.

I can't take my eyes off him. There's something compelling about the enthusiasm with which he chatters away to the helmsman.

Innocence and intellect juxtaposed: this is what I see in the curly-headed teenager. Even as he calculates, he gives his captain a shy smile, cheeks flushed with excitement at the new orders.

So this is Pavel Chekov.


	2. Chapter 2

Drabble: Falling

"Orbit is failing, captain," Sulu reported, panic bleeding through the edges of his controlled voice.

There was a sickening lurch, and the Enterprise yawed drunkenly.

No, Chekov's brain protested. The ship never crashes. The probability of being on a crashing starship is astronomical. This isn't possible

But as the ship began shaking violently, common sense demanded that he at least do something more than wait to wake up. Something besides pound desperately at useless buttons on an inoperable console in some futile hope that this nightmare would stop if he just hit the right buttons.

So he did. He screamed.


	3. Chapter 3

Drabble: A Job Well Done

_"It's up to you, Mr. Chekov. We're counting on you."_

The words echoing ceaselessly in his ears, the young navigator felt knots begin to tie themselves in the pit of his stomach as his nimble fingers scrambled to plot the ever-shifting course. It seemed to take eternity to maneuver each careful turn

Then, finally, they cleared the asteroid field.

The captain gave the boy his classic smirk, congratulating him. But there was something deeper to the expression this time, more than his easy confidence and lust for adventure. Kirk looked almost fatherly.

Chekov seemed to bloom under the man's proud smile.


	4. Chapter 4

Dribble: Glimpse

Glancing at Chekov in an unguarded moment, Spock suddenly found unexpected emotions breaking through the navigator's carefully composed expression: Pain. Fear. Shame. Gut-wrenching anguish. A startling rage, dark and contorted, writhing beneath them. And a desperate determination to keep it all hidden.

It seemed that Mr. Chekov was not as innocent as he seemed.


	5. Chapter 5

Drabble: Stuck

Chekov was captured. Again.

Every single time he was on an away mission, he got thrown in jail for one reason or another

This time it was because he looked at the emperor's daughter. Apparently someone forgot to tell him that looking is the same as touching in D'trfi culture. Though the princess sure hadn't had a problem scoping _him_ out.

Instead of waiting for the rescue team, it would be nice if he could free himself for once. Stealing a quick glance at the hulking guards, Chekov gave a dejected sigh.

Yeah, like that was ever going to happen.


	6. Chapter 6

Dribdrab: Stargazing

It was in a more familiar part of the galaxy in which the Enterprise passed a nebula, the first one Chekov ever saw. As soon as the navigator had learned of the phenomenon (at 2300 hours exactly) he had rushed to the observation deck to watch.

Sulu waited with him, watching the teenager bounce impatiently for nearly two hours before Chekov finally curled up on the smooth floor and fell asleep.

Close to slumber himself, Sulu pulled himself awake when he saw it, a luminous wreath hung on a backdrop of scattered stars.

"Chekov," he whispered.

Instantly the young man sprang upright.

"Ooohhh..." A sigh escaped Chekov's parted lips. His mouth was agape with childlike wonder, bands of pulsing violet light dancing across the planes of his youthful face. Awed by the dazzling beauty, the boy couldn't tear his wide eyes from the sight.

Sulu smiled gently. He wouldn't have missed this for the world.


	7. Chapter 7

Dribdrab: Secrets

He was doing it again. The teenager was full of those pouting lips and puppy dog eyes. He may have had the others fooled with his "innocence" routine, but I wasn't nearly so gullible. His young age didn't change a thing – in fact it made things worse. Chekov was good. Too good.

He had deliberately played up the accent, the speech impediment, the nationalism. I knew that wasn't him. It was the screen behind which the genius worked. Under normal circumstances the kid could've probably hidden forever. But this wasn't normal circumstances.

I saw too much of myself in him. Buried deep under the enthusiastic surface was a steely resolve, the kind that only came with experience. One way or another, I was going to draw it out of him, protect him from the pain dogging every step.

One way or another, I was going to fix him, or my name wasn't James T. Kirk.


	8. Chapter 8

Drabble: Role Model

"Darn it, Chekov, can't you hold still for two seconds?" McCoy grumbled.

"But, Doctor, I itch," he protested, continuing to squirm.

"'Course you itch. You won't hold still! You've got the chicken pox like crazy, and if you won't let me inject you, you'll never heal."

The teenager mumbled assent and forced himself to lie motionless on the biobed. The doctor quickly stuck the side of his red-blotched neck with a hypospray.

"Leave it to you to contract an extinct childhood disease," he groused. "I swear, sometimes you're as bad as Jim."

Chekov just gave him an innocent smile.


	9. Chapter 9

Ficlet: For the Record

"Please state your name."

"Joey Houston."

"Mr. Houston, what was your business on Starbase 41 the day of the fight?"

"Well, I was on my way to visit my sister on Deteros III. She just had a baby, the sweetest little girl ya ever saw, with them big eyes and all."

"Could you please give your account of the fight as you saw it?"

"Sure thing. Where ya wanna start?"

"Begin when Mr. Chekov entered the bar."

"Alright. So that kid, he came in all shy and quiet, ordered a drink and sat himself down at the table in the corner. That's where I knew trouble was startin' at."

"How could you make such a judgement? There seems to be insufficient evidence."

"I dunno. Ya hop bars, ya learn a few things, ya know? And whenever there's a quiet kid, there's trouble. An easy target, ya know?

"So anyways, this big guy's roughin' up this poor little gal. She can't be, what, twenty? Real pretty. Ain't no one noticing, except the kid. And he starts gettin' real upset."

"How were you made aware of this situation?"

"I was talkin' to him the whole time, that's how."

"You neglected to mention that Mr. Chekov had taken a seat at your table."

"It wasn't at my table. It was the one next to it. Besides, 'round that point I just stopped talkin' to him. There was gonna be trouble, and I didn't wanna be part of it."

"Again, I find your assessment to be made on incomplete analyses."

"I mean, think about it: the kid's underage, drinkin' vodka – and a strong brew at that – and he decides that he's gonna teach that guy a lesson. And this is a real big guy, all tough-lookin' and all. And of course I tell the kid that he's drunk, but, no, he won't listen."

"Given Mr. Chekov's mental and emotional status, this seems counterintuitive to his usual behavior."

"Mental status? That kid? If he's got a brain at all, I'd be surprised."

"Ensign Pavel Chekov is one of the foremost minds of the Federation. He is the youngest to ever graduate Starfleet Academy."

"Ya don't say. How old is he?"

"He is seventeen years, eight months, and four days old."

"Huh. Looks younger."

"Please return to your account of the fight."

"Oh, right. So he just bellies up to the guy and tells him to get lost. Well, that ain't gonna happen. The guy just kinda laughs at him. In a creepy sorta way, I mean. He doesn't laugh exactly, it's more like a chuckle. But it's real creepy either way.

"Then he starts toying with the poor kid. I really wanna help, ya know, but this guy, you can tell he means business. He gives everybody one o' them _looks_. Ya know, one o' those smiles that ain't a smile? He's real creepy, this guy."

"Please attempt to remain on topic."

"Oh, sorry. Just settin' the stage. Anyways, the kid says something real low I couldn't hear, but the guy sure didn't like it, 'cause he kinda steps forward, real quick-like, and grabs the kid by the collar. Then he just absolutely pummels him."

"Mr. Chekov related different information when he was returned to our custody. Are you certain your information is correct?"

"Now hold on a sec. Yer all confused. The guy doesn't pummel the kid, the kid pummels the guy."

"Ah. Please refrain from ambiguous pronoun usage in the future. It requires otherwise unnecessary clarification."

"Sorry, mister. Ya know, I thought the kid was a drunken wimp, but he was actually a pretty scrappy fighter. Ya don't see many o' those anymore. 'Least, not on Earth. Ya might see an Andorian here and there, but sure not many humans."

"Please elaborate on the aftermath of the fight."

"Well, I couldn't stay long 'cause the cops came to break up the fight, but I could tell that guy had it pretty bad."

"Do you have any other comments to add to the record?"

"Well, I got a burning question, if that counts."

"You may ask it, if you wish. I will attempt to answer to the best of my ability."

"Who the heck let the kid in without an ID?"


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: So sorry for the long wait! Things have been a little crazy around here. I promise more drabbles and such soon!

Disclaimer: I kinda sorta stole this from Original Star Trek. Except, Chekov wasn't in that episode ("The Naked Time" – I highly recommend). Which is why this had to happen. And I really and truly don't own this. I totally wish I did, but I don't.

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><p><em>Ficlet: The Polywater Incident (Or, Why Approaching a Shirtless Helmsman from Behind is a Bad Idea)<em>

Chekov was on his way down to Engineering when he happened upon Sulu.

The man was just standing there, bare-chested, in the middle of the otherwise deserted corridor. Chekov wasn't really sure what that was about. After all, the helmsman had just come back from an away mission to an arctic planet a couple hours ago. Usually he would put on a sweater after something like that. Very strange. But then, Sulu was a strange guy.

Dismissing the odd behavior, Chekov approached him. "Hey, Hikaru!" he called. "How was the mission?"

The man turned to him with an unsettling grin. Something about his demeanor was off. If he hadn't know better, Chekov would've said he was a bit touched in the head.

Suddenly, one of Sulu's fencing foils appeared in his hand as if from nowhere. "Defend yourself!" he cried, waving it about.

"Um," Chekov began, but was cut off by a wild swing of the sword that barely clipped his earlobe. Dodging out of range, he touched his ear, drawing his hand away with a glistening red droplet on a fingertip.

"We duel to the death!" exclaimed Sulu, brandishing the foil with zeal.

"I would rather not," he replied, figuring this was just the result of another undiscovered phenomenon that space was bound to throw at them. Either that, or he was really drunk. He slowly reached for his communicator, only to have it be plucked from his belt in a lightning move.

"No escape for you," Sulu grinned, holding the communicator loosely in his hand. "You either leave this place bloodied, or with my blood on your sword."

Yeah, he wasn't drunk if he could move like that. "I'm already bloodied," the navigator countered. "And I don't have a sword."

That seemed to stump him for a moment, and Chekov's mind scrambled to formulate a plan. His eyes flicked across the hall, hoping to find a handy exit, but coming up short. So he kept talking.

"It's not very honorable to go after an unarmed man," he said, surreptitiously eyeing his communicator. "And honor is what makes the man, yes?"

Sulu squinted in confusion. "Don't want to be dishonorable..."

"Good, good, that's a start," Chekov responded, trying to sound encouraging. There were wall-mounted communicators scattered around the ship, weren't there? The nearest one was–

"But the ends justify the means, don't they?" Sulu interrupted his thoughts. "Didn't Confucius say that? Or maybe it was Socrates."

"Neither of them were samurai, though, " he objected. He tried to picture a map of the deck. Maybe there was one down the hallway.

"Who cares? It's good advice." The helmsman flung his arms out carelessly in a 'whatever' motion. The foil clinked against the wall, catching the man's attention.

Taking advantage of his distraction, Chekov quickly grabbed for the handle of the foil and yanked it out of his hand.

"Hey!" Sulu protested with a scowl. "I was using that!"

"You nearly cut my ear off! I don't think that counts as proper use of a fencing sword."

The helmsman glared at him for a moment. "You're just jealous. You don't even know how to hold it properly."

"Uh-huh," he said without really listening. "Now, give me my communicator."

"Not unless you give my foil back," countered Sulu.

"No way. You're going to hurt me again."

"No, I won't," Sulu said with a frown. "I promise. Now give it back."

Chekov shook his head.

"C'mon, Pasha," he cajoled, using the teenager's nickname.

"I am going to be very careful with it," he told the helmsman.

"I'm freakin' serious, Chekov. Give me my foil back _now_."

"Hikaru–"

"**Now**."

Chekov flinched at the intensity of the anger in the man's voice. He was clearly under some sort of influence, and there was no way he was giving the foil back to him in this condition. But if he didn't, Sulu might attack him and force it out of his hands. Then he'd be in an even worse situation.

Eyeing the man warily, Chekov nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll give you your foil back. But you must give me my comm first."

"That's not fair," he protested.

"It's either that, or I take it by force."

Sulu laughed. "You? Take something by force? That's kind of funny."

"I am not joking."

His brow furrowed. "You really are serious, aren't you? You really think you can take me?"

"Yes," Chekov said confidently. "I really do."

"But that would be dishonorable, since I am unarmed."

"If we went to the gym, we could each get a foil and fence like men."

Sulu lit up. "Hey, you're right! See, this is why I need you around, because you're the genius!"

"Um, okay. If you say so."

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><p>This might actually end up as a two-shot, if you guys want more on this story.<p> 


	11. Chapter 10 (continued)

Yep, it's a two shot. Because Sulu insisted.

Oh, and before I forget: extra super special thanks to **Sonar** for all your encouraging reviews!

Quick word of warning: this does get a little crackfic-y at one point. You'll know where I mean.

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><p>Sulu strode ahead, confidently swaggering his way through the halls. Chekov followed behind, holding the foil as carefully and tightly as he could, as though it were a poisonous snake poised to bite or escape.<p>

He kept waiting for someone to cross paths with them, be able to save him from this...predicament. He really didn't want to try to fence with Sulu in this condition. And his hands were slick with nervous sweat.

Wait a second, wasn't there a wall communicator in the gym? Maybe he could–

"Hello, Lieutenant Sulu!" someone said enthusiastically.

Commander Spock! For a split second, Chekov thought he might be safe. Then he caught sight of the Vulcan. He had this big, loopy smile, and his gaze, normally bright with intelligence, was disconcertingly glazed over, as though he were daydreaming.

"Well, hiya, Mr. Spock!" Sulu replied. "Whatcha up to?"

"I am attempting to be inconspicuous." He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Dr. McCoy is searching for me so he can bring me to Sickbay. But he will not ever find me!" He gave them a nutty smirk. "I know all the best hiding places on this ship!"

Sulu giggled – _giggled_ – in response. "You should come hide in the gym. That's where we're going. We're gonna go fencing. Right, Chekov?"

Chekov nodded, feeling sick to his stomach.

"Fascinating! I will accompany you," said Spock.

Now two swaggering, bare-chested men led the way, talking and laughing (yes, even Mr. Spock!), while Chekov lagged behind.

Suddenly Spock stopped dead in the middle of the passage.

"What's wrong, Commander?" Sulu asked.

"I...am not sure," he answered slowly. "Perhaps... I believe I miss my mother. I-I don't... I should've told her..."

Without warning he turned around and caught Chekov in a bone-crushing hug.

"You're so cute...a-and cuddly!" he sobbed. "I-I've always wanted to hug you, but it's...it's illogical..."

Startled, Chekov tried to pull away, but unfortunately Spock held him fast. He remained uncomfortably stuck in the Vulcan's embrace. So he awkwardly patted the Commander's back.

Sulu was no help. He just laughed like a maniac.

"You're...you're like a-a cute little puppy and y-you're so sweet a-and no one gives you the appreciation you deserve!" Spock bawled.

"Shh, it's alright, Commander," he said, not really knowing what else to say. After a few moments, Chekov tried again to wiggle free, but Spock tightened his grip.

"No!" he protested. "Don't go, you're so _squishy_..."

Just at that moment, the ship-wide communicator went off. _"This is Captain Kevin Thomas Riley of the starship Enterprise." _

Captain Riley? Oh, yes, Kevin Riley. But he was a Lieutenant, why would he–

_"Cooks, I am ordering a double portion of ice cream for all crew tonight."_

Ice cream? Had the entire ship gone mad?!

_"And now, I will render an ancient Irish favorite." _Riley cleared his throat and began singing. Badly. _"I'll take you home again, Kathleen..." _

"Thank you for the hug, Mr. Spock," Chekov said, "but I think we might be having bigger problems at the moment than whether I am, um...cute."

_"...wild and wide to where your heart..."_

He again attempted to disengage himself from the Vulcan's grip, but with no luck. Then he remembered the foil.

"I am sorry, sir," he murmured before quickly bringing the sword up and cutting the man's arm. In the same movement, he stepped out of range of either Spock or Sulu.

Spock pulled back, putting a hand to the slash as green began to leak through his fingers.

_"...the roses have all left your cheeks..."_

With one last worried glance over his shoulder, Chekov took off running. A wall communicator, a wall– Oh! A work station, even better. He leaned the foil against the wall, and then began typing like mad.

_"...I watched them fade away and die..." _

Riley was...the only one in Engineering? How did he...? Never mind, he'd get to that later. Now, he just had to isolate the frequency...

_"...helm is down...sir, the auxiliary...can't understand what came over him...alert system B2, repeat, all decks, Baker Two..."_

Dimly he was aware of Riley beginning the song over from the top. He really was a terrible singer.

Suddenly all frequencies went dead. Except for one.

_"You interrupted my song, Lieutenant Uhura,"_ Riley said. _"I'm sorry, but there'll be no ice cream for you tonight."_

So Uhura was working on it, too. Maybe if he linked his workstation with her console...

_"And now, I will render Kathleen – one more time!"_

"Oh, please no," he muttered aloud, wiping a trace of sweat from his forehead. It had gotten rather warm over the last several minutes.

Typing furiously, he began to override the security systems.

He heard a laugh behind him, unmistakably Sulu.

Chekov redoubled his efforts, fingers flying recklessly across the screen. Almost there...

Suddenly he felt strong Vulcan arms close around him. His feet were suddenly several inches from the ground.

_No no no no no... _

The console grew farther and farther away.

"Let me go!" he yelled, squirming uselessly. "I have to save the ship! I have to link with Uhura's station! I have to reprogram the ship!"

Spock only hugged him tighter, murmuring, "Cute little Chekov..."

"I am _not_ cute!" he snapped, fighting all the harder.

Sulu laughed and laughed.

_"Cmdr. Spock."_ Uhura's voice radiated from the workstation. _"Please put Ens. Chekov down and step away from him." _

There was a brief pause as the Vulcan seemed to consider her words. Then, slowly but surely, he did as Uhura asked.

As soon as his feet returned to the ground, Chekov dusted himself off, trying to regain a bit of dignity. Then he turned to the console.

Uhura was in the foreground, giving Spock a stern glare. The Captain was right behind her, trying to suppress a laugh. The teenager felt himself blush bright red.

"Is the ship retaken?" he asked.

"Yes," Uhura replied. "Scotty has retaken control of Engineering. Security will be in your vicinity momentarily to escort all of you to Sickbay. Uhura out."

"But I'm not sick," he protested as Uhura cut the transmission.

Immediately a certain Vulcan attached himself to the boy.

"Sweet little Chekov," Spock crooned.

Chekov just sighed and waited for Security.


	12. Chapter 11

_A Lesson in Patience_

Chekov was very, very close to banging his head on the wall in frustration.

He understood why he had to be confined to the brig _before_. That was perfectly fine. The alien mind control had been making him a security threat.

What he _didn't_ understand is why he couldn't leave now that the aliens had been defeated. Or why the guard outside the cell kept giving him suspicious looks when Chekov tried to reason with him. It wasn't as if he were a dangerous criminal or anything.

If someone would just call the captain, everything would be cleared up. Of course, as the security officer refused to even acknowledge him anymore, that was unlikely. Chekov doubted he would bother Kirk at a prisoner's say-so anyway, whether it was him or someone else stuck in the brig.

Heaving a sigh, he leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. _Someone_ had to remember he was stuck in here eventually.

Sulu – he would notice. He and Chekov were best friends, sat next to each other on the Bridge, spent a lot of time together. He was sure to note the absence when he went off duty. But the shift didn't change for another two or three hours.

Maybe Scotty would see that he was gone, and not running the scheduled diagnostics on the thrusters. Probably not. The engineer was absent-minded about his own crew, let alone other departments.

What about Uhura? Chekov thought she might recognize his absence. At least, it would be nice to think so. She always said that the Bridge was more cheerful when he was on it. But after the mind control incident, cheerfulness was probably the last thing on her mind. No, she probably wouldn't notice.

Then perhaps Spock? His sharp Vulcan perception never missed anything, and he didn't hesitate to point things out. Chekov's pride still smarted from the incident where Spock drew attention to a tiny stray wrinkle in an otherwise perfectly starched dress uniform in front of a visiting diplomat. The question wasn't whether he noticed Chekov's absence, it was whether he would comment on it. And whether the others would take the absence seriously. Either way, he wouldn't come looking for him until after the shift ended.

He really, really didn't want to stay in this cell for another three hours.

Chewing on his lip, Chekov seriously considered sabotaging the forcefield. Not that he could, really. It was extremely sophisticated, and he didn't have any equipment, makeshift or otherwise. And he would get in a whole lot of trouble. Trouble wasn't good.

So instead he laid on the cot and stared blankly at the ceiling. He stayed like that for about ten minutes. Then he got restless and tried to calculate the speed of the ship based on how fast the stars hurtled past the window (Warp 2.3). That got old fast, so he started counting the specks of dust hidden in the corners of the cell and averaging them together (54 specks per corner). Then the hairs on the back of the security officer's neck (roughly 121.5).

Eventually he resorted to pacing back and forth. He made a game of it, trying to stay on the same exact path each time. A straight line to a foot in front of the forcefield, pivot left foot, a straight line to a foot away from the far wall, pivot right foot. Right, left, right, left, pivot. Step, step, step, step, pivot.

He couldn't stand it any longer. Chekov asked the security guard the time.

"It's 1400 hours," the guard replied gruffly after consulting a PADD. "You've only been in there an hour. Don't tell me you're already bored to death."

Chekov _was_ already bored to death. But he just shrugged.

The guard shook his head, muttering something about the attention span of a goldfish.

"A PADD would be nice."

"You think I'm gonna give the genius kid a bunch of technology?"

"At least give me _something_ to do. Please?" He gave the guard the look he saved for emergencies, the one that the captain called his 'nuclear puppy dog eyes.'

"Well..." The security officer wavered for a moment. "I guess it wouldn't do any harm." He called another guard over. "The kid's driving me nuts! Get him something to keep him busy, will ya?"

"Yes, sir," the other nodded and left. After a few moments the man returned with a small metallic object and handed it to the guard outside. He opened an aperture in the forcefield and passed the object to Chekov.

_A calculator? _he thought indignantly. Yes, give the genius kid a calculator to keep him busy. He really wanted to punch the guards in their jaws. That'd wipe those infuriating smirks off their faces. But instead he just pasted on a smile and thanked them, ignoring the snickers as they returned to their posts.

A calculator. Hilarious.

It wasn't even capable of making warp calculations. It was an older model, with a plasma battery and backup solar generator. It had the power to do many more complicated equations, but the program was lacking. You could probably take out the batteries and _still_ be able to graph in up to six dimensions. Quite powerful, if you could actually use that power.

A crazy thought surfaced. Chekov's gaze flicked to the forcefield.

Hmm...a calculator...

* * *

><p>Kirk was in his ready room when Uhura paged him.<p>

"What's up?" he asked.

"Security reports an escaped prisoner."

"Are you serious?" he exclaimed. "That's supposed to be nearly impossible! And of course it happens the one day that I want some peace and quiet..." He took a deep breath. "Alright, who is it? The fake Andorian? Or did Crewman Nelson get drunk on duty again?"

She hesitated. "Sir, it's Chekov."

_Wait, what?_ "I'll be right there."

_That explains how a prisoner escaped in the first place, _Jim thought as he entered the Bridge. _  
><em>

"Have you pinpointed his location?" he asked the Ops officer.

"No, sir," she replied. "Internal sensors can't pick him up."

Spock interposed, "He seems to have constructed a dampening field out of the cell forcefield."

"A dampening field?" Kirk repeated incredulously. God, the kid was in _so_ much trouble. "Put Decks 4 and 5 on alert, and have Security teams standing by. He can't have gotten too far." He turned to his helmsman. "Anything you think might help us find him, now's the time, Mr. Sulu."

"Nothing I can think of right now, sir," he responded.

Kirk nodded, taking a seat in the comm. _God_, that kid was in so much trouble.

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><p>Chekov had anticipated some sort of response from security after he'd trapped two of the guards in his own cell. That was why he'd set up the dampening field in the first place, to keep the redshirts from finding him until he had made it to the Bridge. But he certainly hadn't expected the captain to get involved, let alone to send half the ship after him.<p>

So he'd followed his first impulse and took to the Jefferies tubes. Perhaps not the smartest idea, now that he thought about it. They were very cramped. And hot. Especially after being stuck in them for two hours on end. His limbs were aching and his yellow uniform was drenched in sweat. He had to risk moving somewhere less sweltering, or he would end up with heatstroke or something. Where was the coolest passage?

Over the mess hall? Maybe, but it was nearly dinner time by now, and people would be just beginning to stream in. There's no way he could sneak in there without being heard.

Sickbay? The passages were quieter, and there were vents that opened into the main area. But that would be a blessing and a curse, since it would be easy to look right through the grate and see his shadow.

There was a rattle behind him. Turning quickly, he saw a hand, attached to a redshirted wrist grope up through a now-open hatch. Chekov swore quietly in Russian and scrambled away.

Sickbay it was, then.

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><p>Far away from the wild-Chekov chase, McCoy filled out paperwork in his office. That's about all he ever did anymore, fill out all the darn paperwork and get stuck treating Jim after every half-baked away mission. Heck, half the time he was <em>on<em> those half-baked away missions: just him, the hobgoblin, and the trouble magnet known as James T. Kirk.

Apparently someone'd done something, 'cause all these security officers kept rushing through his Sickbay, looking through all his stuff. For Christ's sake, he'd had to shoo the redshirts out of his office, just so he could fill out all this darn paperwork.

And now the ceiling above his head was rattling. Of _course_ some maintenance crewman just _had_ to be thumping around up there. It made _perfect_ sense for everything to go haywire at the _same time_.

He yelled at the yahoo in the ceiling, "Hey, keep it down up there!"

The noise immediately stopped.

"That's more like it," McCoy muttered.

What he had to put up with around here. Good God.

He continued working for several minutes. He was to the point where he was actually getting some work done, when the rattling began again.

"Goddammit, what did I just say about the noise?" he exclaimed to the ceiling.

Accompanying the rattling was a long squeak. McCoy didn't comprehend what the noise meant until suddenly the ceiling collapsed.

Pieces of twisted metal and bent wires cascaded all over everything. There was a loud clatter as the vent fell noisily onto his desk. And on top of everything sprawled a certain Russian ensign.

"Um... Hi?" Chekov offered sheepishly.

"Kid," said McCoy, "You are in _so_ much trouble."

A security officer rushed into the room at the noise, and, to McCoy's surprise, Chekov scrambled back up into the ceiling quicker than a wink.

"Doctor? Are you alright?" the officer asked. "Oh God... I am so sorry, my people are such buffoons. Here, I'll call Scotty to–"

"No, no, it's fine," McCoy said hurriedly. "You all have your jobs to do. I'll call Scotty, you get back to work."

At the odd look the redshirt gave him, he added gruffly, "Don't need any more buffoonery messing with my Sickbay."

As soon as the crewman was gone, McCoy looked to the hole in the ceiling. "Alright, kid. He's gone."

Chekov peeked his head out. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

The young ensign carefully picked his way out of the ceiling and clasped his hands in front of him, nervously rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"Well?" McCoy prompted impatiently. "You gonna tell me how you got all them redshirts after you?"

Hesitantly, Chekov gave him a brief outline of his situation.

The doctor's scowl lessened as an idea came to him. "Kid," he said after he'd finished, "I think we can help each other."

* * *

><p>A few minutes later, McCoy sauntered down the hallway, whistling a little ditty. He hadn't had this much free time in months.<p>

Though, heaven knew what would happen when Jim found his navigator filling out all the medical paperwork.


	13. Chapter 12

Drabble: Blush

The boy was explaining his idea to the captain. An idea Spock should have thought of a long ago.

The excited smile, the bright eyes, the way he bounced on the balls of his feet like he was restraining himself from leaping into the air: Spock wouldn't – couldn't – keep a grudge against him.

The captain was nodding, grinning, patting the boy on the back.

"He's giving you a run for your money, eh, Mr. Spock?" Kirk laughed.

Chekov scampered away, and Spock faced his console again, ashamed to see a delicate green blush spread across his cheeks.


	14. Chapter 13

This is used to be a part of my story "The Strangest Things," but that story didn't go anywhere, and I feel like it fits better here. So, enjoy!

* * *

><p>"Chekov," a voice murmured. "Wake up."<p>

Chekov pried open an eye. He was met with the face of Lt. Uhura, dimly lit with a PADD's blue light.

"It's 2100 – your watch," Uhura whispered.

It took a moment to assess the situation. Why it was so dark, for one thing. But then his nimble mind began clicking the pieces into place. Oh yeah, they were in that cave, to take shelter from an ion storm, which (incidentally) prevented the transporter from working. And there was a watch because they were on an alien planet.

"I'm going to go check on Spock," Uhura continued. "He's taking a few scans outside. The captain is asleep over there." She gestured towards the dark expanse to Chekov's left.

He nodded as he sat up. "Okay. I've got it."

Uhura rose. Her footsteps tap-tapped away, echoing against the stone. The blue light floated its spectral way across the cave and out the mouth into the night beyond.

Chekov stretched, shaking the tension from his drowsy muscles. He wondered what Spock was scanning for. Maybe the storm?

A little sheepishly he realized the storm had dissipated. It was no longer raining, or thundering, or raging against the mouth of the cave. It was almost kind of disappointing, that he didn't have the storm to keep him company. The dark was a bit unnerving without anyone to talk to. Of course, Uhura and Spock would be back soon, but that didn't make him feel much better. Darkness is darkness, no matter how long it lasts.

The silence filled his thoughts for what seemed like hours. Chekov had nearly fallen asleep again, when he jerked awake.

_What was that? _

He froze, listening hard. Sure enough, there it was again – a snuffling sound, to his left and behind him.

Carefully he scooted his PADD towards him, wincing at every half-audible rustle of his uniform. Then he slowly turned up the brightness and pointed it in the direction of the noise.

Scanning the area with his improvised flashlight, he spotted a bit of something yellow on the ground.

Torn and dirty, tatters of the captain's uniform were scattered haphazardly across the cave floor. There was a snort, and a dull gleam pulled out of sight.

_There's something in here._

Trembling, Chekov stood, still pointing a shaky light in the something's direction.

Without warning, the cave was brightly lit with orange fire, revealing an enormous golden dragon.

"Святое дерьмо!" Chekov cursed, reaching for his phaser. But before he could even get it out of the holster, a massive reptilian hand had closed around him. He screamed.

He could feel the strength in the monster's paw, the long claws pressed against his back, and he knew he was going to die, just like the captain. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

A long moment passed. The dragon snorted again. Chekov peered out of one half-opened eye, and his stomach lurched at the bright, cunning eye staring intently into his face.

_It's an intelligent being_, he realized. Great. An intelligent being that just ate the captain and probably wanted to eat him too. Where were Spock and Uhura when he needed them?

The dragon made a weird chirping sound. It almost sounded like the communicator alert noise. Maybe it had heard it and was mimicking it? It put the paw not holding Chekov to where its right ear would have been and drew a triangle in the air. Then it made the chirp again. The gesture and noise somewhat reminded him of...

"You want to t-talk to Mr. Spock?" Chekov hedged, his voice quavering.

The dragon nodded, humming low in its throat.

"Umm... D-Did you eat the captain?"

Shaking its head in a vehement no, the dragon made a very loud snort. Its giant eye seemed to plead with Chekov, willing him to realize something.

To realize...

_Вот дерьмо. _

He peered into the bright blue eye. "Captain? Is that you?"

* * *

><p>Jim nodded, and he felt Chekov's little quaking body go limp with relief.<p>

"Ё моё. I thought you were an alien, or a monster."

He felt a wry smile pull at his lips as he gently set his small ensign back on the cave floor. He'd hated to scare the poor kid like that, but he couldn't think of any other way to get Chekov's attention without drawing phaser fire or, at the very least, a heroic Spock. Speaking of which, where was Spock?

He made the comm sound again, and Chekov nodded. "Okay, captain. I will get Mr. Spock. Be right back!"

He dashed back out of the cave. Now, by the light of the PADD and his own fire-breath (which was _really_ cool, by the way), Jim could examine his appearance. Shiny golden scales completely covering his body, wide bat-like wings, sharp spikes running along his spine, and a long tail were a few of the more interesting additions to his repertoire. Though he did miss the lack of his ears.

Chekov came back, bearing a puzzled expression. "They are gone, sir. I cannot find Cmdr. Spock or Lt. Uhura anywhere."

Well, that wasn't helpful. Guess they'd have to go looking for them. Jim beckoned to Chekov, and the ensign walked to him rather reluctantly. Well, couldn't blame the kid. Sharp teeth would be a bit of a repellant.

Though that probably meant his idea wasn't going to go over very well. Carefully he reached towards the boy–

"Эй! No way! You are _not_ picking me up again."

_Do you have a better idea?_ Jim wanted to say, but as it was, he settled for a gentle growl.

Instantly he regretted it as he saw a flash of fear spring up in his ensign's eyes. Okay, new tactic. He spread his wings and pantomimed flying, then he held out a paw, palm up, as an invitation to climb on.

Chekov slowly shook his head. "I don't think..."

God, why couldn't he have been turned into a puppy, or a frog, or something non-scary?

Suddenly, he heard another snort from outside the cave.

_Captain?_ he heard Spock say. _Are you in there?_

_Yeah_, Jim replied. _Are you guys dragons, too? _

In response, a silver lizard-like head appeared at the mouth of the cave. He looked a lot like Jim, except with horns on his head and eyes slanted in way that recalled his severe eyebrows.

At the sudden appearance, Chekov stumbled backwards with a cry of alarm.

_Chekov, it's okay, it's Spock,_ Jim attempted to calm his ensign, but received no response. _I don't think he can understand us!_

The boy rushed out of the cave, eyes wide with terror.

_Apparently not_, Spock quipped.

Both of them carefully exited the cave, trying to move slowly so not to the frighten the poor kid any more than he already was.

But as they approached the clearing outside, a low throbbing hum could be heard. Jim gave Spock a quizzical look before another, smaller, dragon came into view. The dragon had iridescent purple scales and had a body structure that resembled Jim's moreso than Spock's, but was much more slender than either.

A closer examination revealed Uhura's gentle brown eyes gazing intently at Chekov, who was swaying back and forth with half-closed eyes. Words seemed to float above the throb:

_Lala, mtoto lala,_

_Mtoto lala, mtoto lala._

_Mama anakuja, lala,_

_Akupe maziwa, lala. _

As they watched, Uhura leveled a venomous glare over the ensign's head. _What did you two do to poor Chekov? _

_Hey, it's not my fault the kid's afraid of dragons! _Jim protested. _You're the one who's hypnotizing him! _

_I'm _singing_, thank you very much, _she replied with a toss of her head.

There was a communicator chirp, and this time it wasn't Jim. Uhura abruptly stopped singing, and Chekov blinked and straightened, looking as though he had just woken up from a deep sleep.

Spock nodded to the communicator at the kid's waist. Chekov gave him a smile and plucked the comm off his belt, flipping it open with a flick of his wrist.

"This is Ensign Chekov."

_"Chekov, we've lost the rest of the away team's life signs,"_ Sulu's urgent voice came. _"What happened? Is everyone alright?"_

"Yes, sir," he responded. "Well, sort of, sir. The away team has turned into...uh, very large dragons."

_"Come again, I'm not sure I got that?"_

"The captain, Mr. Spock, and Lt. Uhura are all turned to dragons."

There was a brief silence. _"Wait, what?" _

"Dragons, sir, they are dragons!"

_"Okay, that's what I thought you said."_ A brief burst of static set Chekov to fiddling with the dials and knobs for a few seconds.

Jim wondered how Bones was handling the news.

A muffled _goddammit_ quickly answered his question as his ensign reestablished contact.

_"Can you, um, communicate with them?" _Sulu asked.

Chekov glanced at the scaly trio. "If you are asking if they are conscious of their identities, then yes. If you are asking if they can talk, then no."

_"Okay, um..."_ Sulu seemed to be deliberating what to do. _"You think we could beam you guys up?" _

"The dragons are too large," Chekov objected. "One by itself wouldn't fit in the transporter room." He tilted his head as he suddenly thought of something. "Maybe we could beam them into the shuttle bay."

_"And we could move the shuttles into the cargo holds,"_ Sulu added. _"Perfect. Bailey, Riley. Get on that. Onoi, get me Scotty on the comm."_ A few _aye, sir_s sprinkled the background. "_Chekov, this could take anywhere from fifteen minutes to a couple of hours. In the meantime, make sure you keep them safe."_ And be careful around the dragons, the message seemed to imply.

"Yes, sir," Chekov nodded and flicked the communicator closed again.

* * *

><p>Several modifications later, Scotty was still working on the transporter. It really hadn't been more than an hour, but with the doctor pacing back and forth in front of him, muttering and ranting and carrying on, it seemed like it had been three times as long.<p>

Finally Scotty snapped. "Dr. McCoy, would ya _please_ quit walking in circles like that! You're making me more anxious than a box of Rigellian firebeetles!"

"Well, excuse me if I'm a little goddam worried that we've got crew turned into dragons!"

"You can be all the worried you like, just not in here while I'm working, please."

McCoy threw up his hands. "Fine, fine. I'll quit pacing."

As he stomped over to the edge of the room to sit down, Sulu entered the room. "How are things going, Mr. Scott?"

"I still dinnae about all this," Scotty shook his head skeptically. "I still think the transporter might try to rematerialize them as humans."

"But the DNA should be recognizably different," objected Sulu.

"It dinnae always go by the genes, though," the engineer said. "The patterns could still get a bit mixed up, whether now or next time they beam down."

"Wait, hold it," McCoy interrupted. "Are you saying they might end up as some human-dragon compound?"

"You told me the patterns wouldn't be stored in the databanks," Sulu said, ignoring McCoy.

"I said I could delete the patterns," Scott clarified.

"Resetting the memory entirely of any trace of pattern–"

"Now, that's just not done!" he protested. "Number one, it goes against every Starfleet protocol in the book–"

"Which we've done several times."

"Now wait just a minute–" McCoy interjected.

"And two, I dinnae even know how to _begin_ going about that! It's one thing to wipe the memory, but to reset it entirely? I'd have to reprogram it from the ground up! And if I get one figure off by even a hair..." Scotty trailed off at Sulu's determined gaze. "I'm not gonna be able to change your mind, am I?"

Sulu gave him an amused look. "Nope."

Scott sighed. "Fine. Give me a few hours, I'll see what I can do."

"You have two." Sulu exited.

"Damn it, man!" McCoy followed. "Listen to me when I'm talking to ya!"

Shaking his head as the voices faded down the hallway, Scotty sighed again. Two hours. Engineers got no respect around here.

* * *

><p><em>Tap. Tap. Tap.<em>

Chekov threw another pebble against the cave wall. Only a few minutes after the comm call, it had started raining again. He was glad the cave was so large, to fit three dragons with room to spare.

Boredom was numbing his brain. He _had_ been heloping Scotty with some of the calculations, or at least until Mr. Spock had borrowed his PADD and managed to scrape a claw down the front of the screen, destroying the display. Chekov had long given up trying to fix it.

The dragons were clustered in the far corner of the cave, presumably carrying on some sort of conversation, but all he could hear were hums and growls. He probably could have at least sat with them, but there wasn't much of a point. He couldn't understand them. The Bridge crew never really treated him as an equal anyway. Well, they were always very nice, and acknowledged his talents, but his youth isolated him in a way that couldn't be remedied.

His comm chirped, catching the attention of the dragons, whose glittering, intelligent gazes locked on him. People turned dragons or no, they still freaked him out a little. Heaving a sigh, Chekov readjusted his position out of the now-uncomfortable slouch and pulled it from his belt. "Ensign Chekov here."

_"We're almost ready to start beaming you guys up," Sulu said. " If all goes well, you'll be human again in no time." _

"Oh. Good. We will be ready," Chekov replied with a smile before practically skipping out of the cave.

Jim smirked. _He really doesn't like dragons, does he?_

* * *

><p>McCoy took a deep breath. The hangar had been cleared, the calculations had been made, the reprogramming had been approved and carried out. All that was left was to beam up the captain and his crew.<p>

_"Are ye ready down there?"_ Scotty asked over the comm from the transporter room.

"Yes," Sulu responded. "We're ready. Energize."

There was an agonizing pause. McCoy suddenly wonders if the dragons were wearing clothes.

Then, four shapes shimmer into existence. Jim. Spock. Nyota. All fully clothed, thank God. And–

"Chekov!" Jim exclaimed. "You're...dragonized."

A large forest green reptile shifts sheepishly from paw to paw, humming what sounds like an apology.

_"Did it work?"_ Scotty asked.

"Um, yeah," Sulu said. "Both ways."

There is a muffled curse and a scrabbling sound.

Chekov snorts, and smoke floats from his nostrils.

_"Ok, ok, I've got it now,"_ said Scotty._ "I'm putting Chekov back through." _

A shimmer later, the young ensign stood in front of then again. Well, minus his clothes.

"Scotty, now he's naked," Sulu observed.

Before anyone could react further, the transporter lights enveloped him again and drops him, with a uniform on this time.

From his experience with check ups, McCoy expects the poor kid to blush bright red and mutter something in mortification.

Instead, he shrugs. "I guess Mr. Scott needs me to check over his equations more often, no?"


End file.
